


Every Storm Makes Us Stronger

by PrettyTheWorld



Series: Until At Last You Know [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mommy Issues, New York, Non-Graphic Smut, One Shot, Poor Coping Strategies, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyTheWorld/pseuds/PrettyTheWorld
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Brian repeated, his tone serious and deliberate. “For a lot of things over the last two days. I… I didn’t know what to do with what happened before I left Pittsburgh, and I wasn’t ready to talk.” He paused, sighing. “And I don’t know how to lie to you. I haven’t for a long time, and you know that. So sometimes, it’s easier to piss you off, so you’ll leave me alone until I find enough of my remaining ball to face you -- as irrational as I know that sounds.”“Or,” Justin said, a small smile playing on his lips, “you could say, ‘Hey Justin, I’ve got something on my mind that I’m not ready to talk about, and I need a little space.’” He gave his husband a meaningful look before continuing. “Brian, I know what you’re doing when you do it now… But what I don’t understand is why, almost two decades into our relationship, you still think the solution toanythingis to push me away -- if for no reason other than itwon’t fucking work.”***Brian gets some unexpected and difficult news and turns to his usual coping strategies. Justin knows better.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Until At Last You Know [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610245
Comments: 22
Kudos: 85
Collections: Queer as Folk Holiday Gift Exchange





	Every Storm Makes Us Stronger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrueIllusion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/gifts).



> (aka the BEST co-author EVERRRRRR)
> 
> Written for 2019 QAF Gift Exchange using the prompt: Fic fluff/schmoop, angst, canon-compliant, hurt/comfort, sexy fun times Post-series Brian/Justin, brought into the present day, with an overall hurt/comfort or angst theme (though fluff blended in is fine too). Other specifications: No anti anybody, please. 
> 
> Title from "I'm Not Running" by Vertical Horizon
> 
> (For those of you who know, TrueIllusion and I co-write together a LOT. So it was quite an exercise in not only not being able to get her feedback as I wrote this, but NOT TELLING HER AT ALL. OMG. But, it's appropriate, because we MET through the Gift Exchange last year, when I wrote "The Grief That Does Not Speak" for her request. So yay, full-circle, and yay TrueIllusion! I Heart You!)

It had become apparent to Justin that -- despite his return from New York, leading to the most historic reunification since his _last_ major reunification with Brian; despite finally, _finally_ committing to each other with a simple and virtually unplanned wedding ceremony in Europe that was _still_ everything Justin had dreamed of and more; despite moving _back_ to New York, this time as a unit, for Brian’s job; despite being practically everything to each other for the better part of two decades -- Brian still had occasional moments where he did his damndest to push Justin away. 

Brian didn’t deal with difficult emotions; that much was apparent to anyone who knew him at all. He was an expert in short-term pain management, but that was about the extent of it. Each time Brian came home from somewhere -- work, the grocery store, the gym, the club, the diner, it didn’t matter -- and went straight for the Chivas Regal, Justin knew that the infamous Kinney Cliff was not too far in the distance. Fortunately, now he also knew how to prepare himself for it. 

That day was no exception. 

This time, Brian had just returned from a business trip to Pittsburgh. Some of Kinnetik’s original local clients preferred to continue working directly with Brian himself, so he made an appearance in the Pitts at least monthly to accommodate them. Usually his trips were akin to his former perspective on fucking - in and out, with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit. Fortunately, now his perspective on fucking was slightly different -- and no longer happened with his clients (or anyone who wasn’t Justin) -- but regardless, the point was that he generally didn’t come back from those trips in a foul mood. 

It was early evening when Brian was expected back in the city. Justin was sitting at the kitchen island, working on a sketch for one of several new paintings that had just been commissioned by an older gay couple in Park Slope. They had purchased a brownstone mansion right across from Prospect Park, and were in the midst of modernizing renovations. Justin’s work, they insisted, would add the perfect accents to their design. Justin was incredibly flattered, and it was an insanely lucrative project, given his anticipated paycheck at the end, but it was also agonizingly stressful to make sure every last detail would be perfect. 

Needless to say, Justin was anticipating Brian’s return home as a welcome distraction, and he knew it was unlikely that Brian would have any objection to pulling Justin away from his work and giving him something else to focus on for an hour or two. 

When the penthouse door opened and Brian pushed his way inside, Justin stayed seated, waiting for his husband to come up behind him and wrap him in a hug, or press his lips to Justin’s neck, but the anticipated touch never came, and instead, he heard Brian’s footsteps moving in the opposite direction, followed by the unmistakable clink of the whisky decanter.

 _Fuck._

Justin chanced a glance back at his husband and cringed when he saw the tightness in Brian’s features and the weariness behind his eyes as he threw back two fingers of scotch, then quickly poured himself another. 

Justin’s throat burned just from watching. 

There was a chance that the situation could be salvaged, Justin realized, and perhaps some old-fashioned TLC (or, in Brian Kinney-speak, mindless fucking) would do the trick. Knowing that it would accomplish his original goal, Justin was willing to try. 

Since Brian hadn’t even bothered to take off his coat before heading for the liquor, Justin figured that was a good place to start, so he slid off of his chair and made his way across the room, reaching up to ease the black cashmere trench off of Brian’s shoulders, and hoping that his gentle touch would elicit some sort of positive response from his husband. 

“Do you fucking mind?” Brian muttered instead, when Justin needed to get his coat off of the arm holding the freshly re-emptied lowball glass. 

Justin dropped the edges of the coat, realizing that his efforts were going to be futile, and stepped back, ignoring Brian’s snapped, “That’s fucking Burberry!” as he made his way back to his seat at the island. 

At least by this point in their relationship, Justin knew how to play the game better, and didn’t go out of his way to coddle Brian, or allow himself to be coerced into the fight that Brian was clearly seeking. Instead, after he heard Brian pour his third serving of Chivas, he turned enough to glance at his husband and asked, “Should I bother making dinner, or are you just planning to drink it?” 

Brian let out a derisive snort, but said nothing else, so Justin shrugged, hopped back off of his stool, and grabbed his jacket from the closet. “I’m gonna go to Tri Dim. Text me if you want me to bring anything back.” 

The sound of silence followed him out the door. 

When Justin returned, his stomach happily full of soup dumplings and sake, the apartment was silent and Brian was nowhere to be found. From a quick tour around their master suite, Justin surmised that Brian had managed to unpack and shower, at least, but his current whereabouts were a mystery that Justin wasn’t in the mood to figure out. It probably wasn’t that hard to solve -- Brian was nothing if not a creature of habit, so it was most likely that he’d gone out. Though they rarely went clubbing these days, Justin knew it was still a release Brian tended to seek when he needed to forget about something -- and at least nowadays, it was undeniably certain that there wouldn’t be any anonymous fucking around. Alcohol and other questionable substances, however, were anyone’s guess. 

Justin had gone to bed shortly after midnight, realizing that Brian wasn’t planning on making an appearance, or giving Justin the opportunity to welcome him home properly that night. Shortly after two o’clock, he awoke to a sound that took him a moment to fully place -- Brian retching in the master bathroom. 

_Fuck_ , Justin thought. If there was one thing about Brian that never failed to amaze him, it was his ironclad tolerance for a variety of substances in alarming quantities. To be fair, it had been awhile since the older man had indulged in any extreme manner, but regardless, Justin suddenly had a bit more perspective on how serious this was. He debated getting out of bed and checking on his husband, but figured that unless the situation escalated, he was better off staying put. If Brian was already feeling like shit, the last thing he likely wanted was an audience. 

Fortunately, the noise stopped shortly after, and the toilet flushed. About twenty minutes later, Justin felt the bed dip as Brian crawled in, smelling freshly showered. 

Justin rolled over, but before he could open his mouth, Brian spoke, his voice raw from vomiting. “Please just… don’t say anything.”

“Okay,” Justin agreed, the concern in his voice undeniable, figuring at least that one word was acceptable. Instead of asking anything further, he moved closer to Brian, wrapping a tentative arm around him. And finally, in the dark of the night, Brian allowed a small sliver of his vulnerability to show as he accepted the contact and moved into Justin’s embrace. 

As they both drifted off, Justin barely registered the words whispered from Brian’s lips: “I’m sorry.” 

***

Despite waking up early the next morning, Justin realized that Brian was already out of bed. He’d hoped to be able to wake his husband up with some sort of sexual gratification, to start his day on a positive note, but it was becoming clear that that wouldn’t be an option. 

Brian wasn’t out in the kitchen either, when Justin finally dragged himself out of the bedroom, but he noticed that Brian had made coffee before heading off to wherever he’d gone. 

_Maybe he feels bad and went to Ess-a-bagel_ , Justin thought, suddenly feeling hopeful. It would be just like Brian to not acknowledge his behavior from the previous day, but to make up for it with a surprise from one of Justin’s favorite places -- especially since he’d already made and left coffee.

But an hour later, Brian still hadn’t returned home. Even though it was a Saturday, the wait for bagels at that hour was never terribly long, and it wasn’t snowy -- or even cold, really, so that didn’t explain what would take so long.

Finally, Justin gave up and pulled out his phone, tapping out a text. **Where are you?**

A few minutes later, ellipses showed up on Brian’s side of the screen for far longer than the eventual response reasonably required. **_The office._**

 _It’s not a weekday, and I’m totally spacing, is it?_ Justin thought to himself, brow furrowed, but a quick glance at the home screen on his phone confirmed that it was, indeed, the weekend. 

**I didn’t realize you had to work today.**

**_Busy, busy._ **

**When will you be home?**

**_When I’m done._ **

And that was that. 

***

“Yeah, I just don’t know what’s going on with him, Daph,” Justin was saying into the phone a few hours later, when he heard Brian’s keys in the door. “Shit, he’s back. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Okay, good luck,” was Daphne’s response before Justin quickly ended the call and set his phone down on the coffee table. 

Because of Justin’s position relative to the door, there was no way Brian could avoid seeing him as he entered the apartment, but he just cast a cursory glance in Justin’s direction and continued toward the kitchen, pulling a beer from the shelf and popping the cap before taking a deep pull from the bottle.

“How was the office?” Justin tried, hoping to get some kind of indication as to what was going on with his husband. Maybe something had gone wrong in one of his meetings in Pittsburgh, and he was worried about losing a major account. That would explain Brian’s need to go into the office on his typical day off, but it didn’t explain his excessive partying the night before.

Brian shrugged. “It was work.” At least it was an answer, Justin figured. 

“Are you mine for the rest of the day?”

Despite the playful tone he’d used, Justin immediately knew it had been the wrong thing to say, watching Brian’s eyes visibly darken as he snapped, “I don’t fucking belong to _anyone_. I don’t owe anyone _anything_. Why can’t people just leave me the _fuck_ alone?”

Brian started to storm toward the bedroom, beer in hand, but this time, Justin wasn’t going to tolerate it. He stood up and moved quickly, getting in front of Brian before he reached the door, to block him. 

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” he asked, trying to keep his voice more level than he felt. He was more tolerant of Brian’s moods than most, but even he had a limit -- especially when he was fairly sure he wasn’t remotely at fault for causing it. 

Brian paused for a moment, giving Justin a calculating look as he took another swig of his beer, and then let out a bitter laugh. “You know, I’m a little fucking tired of people picking and choosing what’s supposed to be told or not. And then expecting me to do something about it. Maybe no one _needs_ to know anything.”

Justin gave him a confused look, not budging from his spot. “What does that even mean?”

Brian looked down at the floor and sighed, but it was not a sigh of defeat so much as one of exasperation, followed by, “Would you move?”

Justin gave Brian another long look, and then relented. “Fine. I’m going to Daphne’s.”

“Suit yourself,” Brian said, shrugging. “Unlike _some_ people, I don’t stop others from trying to live their lives the way they’d prefer.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Justin said, finally moving out of Brian’s path as he walked over to the closet to pull out his jacket and scarf. “If I’d been able to live _my_ life the way I wanted, we’d have fucked as soon as you got home yesterday, had a nice dinner at home, probably fucked again, and then actually spent a fun weekend together, after you were gone for a couple days. But since nothing even remotely like that seems to be happening anytime soon, I think I’d rather go somewhere I actually feel welcome, since my own home isn’t really an option for that right now.” 

Brian’s face was unreadable as he watched Justin shrug into his jacket and zip it up. Finally, as the younger man was almost done winding his scarf around his neck, Brian opened his mouth to speak.

“Justin--”

But Justin had had enough of being Brian’s punching bag, and held up a hand to stop him. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t going away anytime soon, and Brian, despite his best efforts to resist, had to eventually learn that he couldn’t avoid his problems by trying to push Justin to his breaking point. 

“Save it.”

***

“Do you think something happened to him in Pittsburgh?” Daphne asked, passing Justin a carton of beef lo mein. 

Justin chuckled. “Well, obviously. He wasn’t remotely like this before he left. In fact, he almost missed his flight because he insisted on one more fuck in the shower before he left for the airport. Everything was totally fine.” 

“TMI,” Daphne teased, poking Justin with the clean end of a chopstick. “But seriously. Did he mention anything that sounded off on any of the nights he was there? I know you guys text all the time, and he calls before he goes to bed…”

“He was fine,” Justin insisted again, shrugging. “He had good meetings, he went to lunch with Michael a few times, hung out with the guys at Woody’s, ate dinner at Debbie’s… Everything sounded totally normal.” 

Daphne tapped her chin, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of cashew chicken. “Is his health okay?” she asked once she’d swallowed.

Justin froze, his bottle of Yuengling halfway to his lips. “Fuck. I didn’t even think of that. I didn’t think he had any appointments on this trip, but he doesn’t always tell me.”

“Well,” Daphne said, dragging out the word. “Can you find out?”

“He doesn’t really have an interest in telling me much of anything,” Justin reminded her, having previously recounted Brian’s cryptic rant. 

“Can you ask Michael?”

Justin sighed. “I _could_ , but for one, I think if he knew something serious had happened, he’d have reached out by now, and two, if Brian found out I went behind his back with Michael _again_ , he’d cut off my balls.” He paused, giving Daphne a contemplative look. “You’re a doctor… what do you think?”

Daphne laughed. “Justin. I might be a doctor, but I’m not clairvoyant. I can’t just… like, _look_ at Brian and know if something is wrong with him. And even if I did have his charts in front of me, my speciality isn’t oncology. Honestly, if there were outward signs of something being wrong with him, you’d probably know better than any of us, considering how… _intimately_ you know his body.” 

Justin made a face and flung a small piece of his chopstick wrapper in his best friend’s direction. But, Daphne had a point. Nothing had seemed wrong with Brian prior to his trip; he’d seemed strong and healthy in every way Justin could tell. And, deep in his gut, he really didn’t think that was the reason, but at this point, he didn’t have much to go off of, in any direction. 

Sensing that Justin needed a distraction from all things Brian, they switched gears and finished their chinese takeout with a few episodes of “Queer Eye” before Justin decided he should probably head back home. Brian hadn’t texted at all during the evening, but it had been clear that Justin wanted some space, and if anyone was good at respecting that -- unless he was actively horny -- it was Brian. 

They parted with a long hug, and a promise from Justin that he’d reach out to Daphne if he needed anything else or found out what was going on, and then he decided to walk back to his building from Daphne’s west side apartment, figuring the stroll through the park would give him some time to think. 

It was a little chillier than Justin had anticipated, and even after he got out of the elevator outside their door, he was still shivering. 

Surprisingly, the lights inside the apartment were on, and Brian was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, vaguely staring at something on the television screen. He glanced over when Justin walked in, but didn’t say anything. Justin could have sworn, though, that a little bit of relief had settled over his features. 

Once his jacket was back in the closet, Justin walked over toward his husband, still rubbing his arms for warmth. Wordlessly, Brian lifted one edge of his blanket, a clear invitation for Justin to join him.

Hoping it was a peace offering, Justin went willingly, tucking into Brian’s side, the chill immediately dissipating as Brian’s arm came around him. There was an episode of “Chopped” on TV, which Justin loved, but Brian never watched, so it was a curious choice on Brian’s part. The episode was nearly finished, and it was one Justin had already seen, but Brian didn’t seem inclined to start a conversation, so Justin was content to enjoy comfortable silence for the time being. 

As the show ended and a new episode began, Justin glanced over at Brian to see if there was anything he could glean from the other man’s expression. Truthfully, Brian looked troubled, still an uneasy tension tightening his features, but when he caught Justin looking at him, his eyes softened and he leaned down, capturing Justin’s lips in a desperate kiss -- the first since he’d arrived home the day before. Justin hadn’t realized how much he’d been craving it. 

It quickly became clear that Brian was moving purely on instinct and desire, and before Justin knew it, he found himself on his back on the couch as Brian peeled his jeans down his legs, then quickly repositioned himself to take Justin into his mouth. 

Justin moaned as Brian worked fervently to bring him to climax, clearly on a mission, but Justin didn’t want this to be Brian’s “apology” either -- he suspected Brian needed some kind of release almost as much as he did. Fortunately, Brian’s blowjob style was often to tease Justin close to the edge a few times before he finally allowed him to come, so while Justin still had enough control of his faculties to direct the situation, he put a hand on Brian’s shoulder to stop him. Brian looked up questioningly.

“I want to come with you inside me,” Justin whispered, running a hand through Brian’s hair and down the side of his face in a gesture of tenderness.

“Okay,” Brian whispered back, his voice breaking on the word, but he obliged, and got up long enough to grab a bottle of lube and remove his own clothing. He prepared Justin quickly, and then lined himself up, thrusting in deeply and causing them both to let out unmistakable sounds of satisfaction.

As Brian started focusing on his new task at hand, Justin reached up to pull Brian’s head down toward his and kissed him again, their bodies moving in tandem at both ends, lips and tongues tangled while Brian pumped his hips and Justin thrust up to meet him. 

_At least this is one area we’ll never be out of synch_ , Justin thought to himself, then moaned into Brian’s mouth as the older man squarely hit his prostate, as if to punctuate the sentiment. 

As Brian got closer to his own climax, he gripped Justin’s hips tightly, and started moving in short, hard thrusts, adding a little bit of pain that always drove Justin wild when it was alongside intense pleasure. They came within seconds of each other, a minute or two later, and Brian collapsed on top of Justin’s body, both of them breathing heavily. 

Once they were both relatively back at equilibrium, Justin glanced down at Brian, who was lying with the side of his face pressed to Justin’s chest. His breathing had evened to the point that Justin wondered if maybe he’d fallen asleep, but if one of them was to doze off post-sex, it was nearly always Justin. Most of the time, sex gave Brian a burst of energy that, when time permitted, usually led to a second round not too much later. 

“You okay?” Justin chanced asking quietly. It worked, and Brian turned his head to look up at him.

“Yeah. Gonna shower,” was the reply, and Brian began to extract his long limbs from where they were still intertwined with Justin’s. “I’ll bring you a towel to clean up.”

Justin frowned. Even when he didn’t necessarily want to join Brian in the shower after sex, he frequently found himself being dragged along. “Or I could join you…” he pointed out, trying to sound suggestive, even though he was mainly feeling concerned by the continuance of Brian’s atypical behavior. 

Brian shrugged indifferently. “If you want.”

As Justin followed Brian into the master bathroom, the uneasy feeling churning in the pit of his stomach started to feel more like a challenge, and served to further fuel his determination to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with his husband. They showered separately for the most part, fully utilizing the absurd amount of enclosed space -- another unusual occurrence following an intense lovemaking session like they’d just shared -- so Justin tried to pay close attention to Brian for anything else that seemed out of the ordinary. 

When it seemed like Brian had finished washing himself, Justin moved to face him and backed him toward their built-in shower bench, encouraging him to sit. Shower-head was one of Brian’s favorite things, both to give and receive, so Justin expected some sort of interested response when he dropped to his knees, but Brian just sighed and let his head fall back against the marble tile -- though he did spread his legs slightly, showing that while he’d resigned himself to whatever came next, he also wasn’t unwilling to consent. 

Justin pulled out all the stops, doing everything that he knew Brian loved, while also trying to pay attention to what he felt as his fingers massaged Brian’s balls. Though Brian had seemed perfectly functional just minutes earlier, there was still the lingering fear that perhaps he _had_ received bad news in Pittsburgh and hadn’t yet shared. Justin certainly didn’t want to give credence to the thought, but he was starting to worry even more now, because for all of his efforts so far, Brian was still almost completely soft. Everything beneath Justin’s fingertips felt perfectly normal, but he was also no oncologist, and he hadn’t noticed the problem the first time, despite the number of times he’d been in close proximity with Brian’s cancerous testicle prior to its discovery.

“Sorry,” Brian finally said, his fingers gently prodding at Justin’s chin. “Just stop.” 

Justin obliged, releasing Brian from his mouth, and the latter stood and got out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his body and leaving the room without another word. Shaking his head, and blinking frustrated tears out of his eyes, Justin took a moment to compose himself before turning off the water, drying himself off and heading into their bedroom.

Brian was already in bed, facing away from Justin’s side, the duvet covering him almost up to his neck. Unsure of what else to do, Justin crawled under the covers and settled into his usual spot, hoping that the rest of their night wouldn’t be full of awkward silence -- he doubted that Brian was anywhere close to falling asleep, and as long as Justin had an unanswered slew of questions rattling around in his brain, neither was he. 

After a few minutes of lying in their respective positions, Brian rolled over, studying Justin in the dim light of his bedside table lamp. “Do you want me to suck you off?” he asked. 

Justin looked over at his husband, brow furrowed. “Why would I want that?” he asked, genuinely confused. The absolute last thing Justin felt was aroused, all things considered. 

Brian’s eyes started to look troubled again, and he gestured toward the bathroom. “I just thought…”

“Oh,” Justin said, shaking his head. “No, I just wanted to make _you_ feel good. I thought it would... help.” 

“Help what?” Brian’s question felt like it was more of a test than one of ignorance, so Justin knew he had to tread carefully. He sat up fully, leaning back against the headboard.

“You just seem really… I don’t know. Stressed? Tense? Angry? I don’t know what happened in Pittsburgh, but… I want to make it better.”

Brian bit his bottom lip and cast his eyes downward. 

“Can I ask you something?” Justin continued, feeling a little braver in the absence of an acerbic response.

Brian didn’t say anything, but waved a hand out casually, as if to say, “Go for it.” 

It took everything in Justin’s power for his voice to not shake when he said, “Did you have an appointment with your doctor this week?”

There was a long silence before Brian cleared his throat uneasily and said, “I did.”

“When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

 _Oh shit. Oh fuck. Daph was right. The cancer is back. Or something else is wrong. Shit. Fuck. Shit._ Justin’s thoughts began racing a mile a minute, but until Brian gave him something affirmative, he knew he couldn’t react outwardly. _Breathe. He needs you_ , Justin recited to himself on a loop as his mind searched for the next “appropriate” question to ask. 

“How was it?” _Be casual. You don’t know anything yet._

Brian sighed heavily, and when he spoke, his voice was noticeably weaker. “It was a fucking shitshow.” 

A lump settled in Justin’s throat. _This can’t be happening. He has to be okay_. “Can you… I mean… What… Is it… back?” This time, he couldn’t fight the tearful note in his voice that broke through on his last word. 

Suddenly Brian shot up into a seated position, his head darting to look in Justin’s direction. “What? No! I’m not… I’m fine. Great. Healthy as a fucking horse,” he quickly reassured his panicked husband. 

“But you just said--” Justin started, trying to wrap his head around the situation. Brian had had an appointment with his oncologist that was a ‘fucking shitshow’ by his own admission, but he was perfectly fine. “Then what the fuck happened?”

Silence.

“Brian?” Justin prodded gently, a minute or two later. Brian had started staring straight ahead at the wall, a haunted look on his face that Justin didn’t like at all. Whatever was coming next, it was not good. 

When Brian finally spoke, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I saw my mother.”

“Joan?” Justin repeated, now even more confused. “Are you saying you ran into her after your appointment? Or she fucking just… _showed up_ at your doctor’s office? How did she even know that you--” Justin stopped when he realized that Brian’s expression hadn’t faltered. 

“No.” Brian’s voice was suddenly surprisingly loud and clear, but then his face twisted into a grimace as he turned to face his husband. “She was there as a patient.” 

_Final dot? Connected. Shit._

“She has cancer?” Justin asked, wanting to make sure he fully understood what Brian was telling him.

“Yeah,” Brian choked out, giving a nod for added confirmation.

Justin desperately wanted to move closer to his husband and try to offer comfort, but he knew that if Brian wasn’t ready to receive it, he’d just close himself off again, and the conversation wouldn’t continue. 

“Do you know what kind?” 

Brian sighed again, and Justin realized that whatever came next, it would probably be Brian’s first time saying it aloud. However, he also realized that most forms of cancer were highly treatable and with an early prognosis and proper care--

“Glioblastoma. Grade 4.” Except that one. _Fuck._

Justin sighed, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what receiving this news had felt like to Brian. The complications in Brian’s relationship with his mother were numerous and, in many ways, incomprehensible. And while Brian had no hesitation in expressing his disdain for Joan Kinney -- her beliefs, and her behavior toward him throughout the majority of his life -- Justin knew that there was a lot left unrevealed that spoke to a lost little boy-turned-grown man who still desperately wanted his mother to love him. 

“Is she attempting treatment?” Justin asked, deciding that logistics was the best angle to take for the time being. 

“No.”

“How long does she have?”

Brian pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes -- to relieve pressure or try to force back his own tears, Justin wasn’t sure. His eyes still looked dry when he responded, “Three months. Max.”

Justin let out a slow breath. He hadn’t expected that -- a year, perhaps, maybe even six months -- but nothing as immediate as what was essentially just a few weeks. “Who else knows? Claire? Your nephews? Her priest?”

Brian shook his head slowly. “Just me. And by total fucking accident.” He paused, letting out a bitter laugh before looking plaintively at Justin. “How fucked up is that?”

“It’s extremely fucked up,” Justin confirmed, knowing Brian was in desperate need of validation as his emotions teetered on the brink of overflowing. 

“You know what else is fucked up?” Brian continued, his voice veering back toward a whisper. He went on before Justin could respond. “That my mother just told me she’s dying of brain cancer and all I can think about is how fucking unfair it is that I’m the only other person who has to deal with it, and how I wish I could go back to not knowing.” 

Justin frowned, feeling his chest tighten at the thought of what Brian was fighting internally. For as much as he wanted Brian to be more open and share his feelings, he had to admit that, on the rare occasion when he actually got his wish, it ended up feeling far more heartbreaking than satisfying. 

“That’s not fucked up,” Justin said, reaching to take Brian’s hand. Fortunately, Brian didn’t rebuke his attempt, instead interlacing his fingers with Justin’s and squeezing. “You didn’t deserve to find out this way, and you shouldn’t have to face it alone. You _don’t_ have to face it alone.” 

Brian sniffed, forcing back tears that were starting to find their way out through his nose, though they had still not yet made it to his eyes. “You know,” he began shakily, looking down at the bed, and Justin could feel another admission coming on. “I always assumed that one day, I’d just find out that Joan was dead, that Claire would be too fucking selfish to tell me it was coming -- unless, of course, she needed money for something -- and I’d just get the call one day, and that would be that. Relief. Over. Ding dong, the witch is dead.” He paused to sniff again. “I never imagined I’d find out _while_ she was dying, and that I’d have to… fucking _hear_ her talk about it, share all this shit I never asked to know. But now? Now that it’s happening?” He looked at Justin, tears brimming heavily in his eyes. “I’m so fucking scared, and I don’t know what to do.”

Instinctively, Justin let go of Brian’s hand and reached for him fully, enveloping him as Brian collapsed into his arms, letting loose a torrential downpour of emotions he’d been attempting to repress for the last thirty-six hours. As Brian’s sobs deepened, Justin carefully lowered them both so that they were lying down, Brian cradled against his chest. It was the most intensely Justin had ever seen Brian break down, crying to the point that he had to stop several times to gasp for air, his grief too much to contain. Justin just kept him wrapped tightly in his arms, hoping Brian felt the safety and unconditional love flowing from his husband’s embrace. Eventually, Brian’s body stopped shaking, and his ragged breaths turned to deeper breathing as he cried himself to sleep. Justin pressed a kiss to the top of his head and turned off the lamp. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get much sleep, given all that had transpired, and the knowledge that the continuation of their conversation wasn’t far ahead. However, Justin ultimately knew that in the moment, if there was anything he could do for Brian, it was this.

***

Unlike the previous morning, Justin awoke before Brian, feeling groggy from his intermittent sleep the night before. Every time Brian had made a sound or moved even slightly, Justin had stirred, wanting to make sure his husband was okay. Fortunately, Brian hadn’t woken up during the night. In hindsight, Justin wasn’t terribly surprised, considering how exhausted he had probably been on numerous levels. 

Justin was holding his phone one-handed and scrolling through the New York Times online, the other arm still wrapped around Brian when he woke up.

“Hey,” Brian managed, his voice a bit gritty. When Justin looked at him more closely, he saw that Brian’s face was still red and puffy from his tears.

“Good morning,” Justin greeted him, leaning in for a kiss that Brian returned chastely and then sighed, as if everything that had happened the night before had just flooded back into his memory. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Justin gave him a sympathetic smile, and brushed a rogue strand of hair away from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Brian cleared his throat. “I think…” He stopped and cleared his throat again. “I think I need a little time.”

Justin nodded, appreciating his honesty. “I understand. I can go to the studio if you want to be here alone for awhile.”

“What? No,” Brian said quickly, shaking his head. “Stay. I think maybe I’ll take a bath.” He hesitated, and then added, “You can join if you want.” 

As tempting as the offer normally would have been, Justin knew that, especially after the gravity of their conversation only a few hours earlier, it was important for Brian to process what he’d revealed to Justin, and try to work through some of his current emotions. He needed to understand that he could take time for himself in a healthy, productive, self-care kind of way, and see for himself that, even in his lowest moments, Justin was going to be there for him no matter what, and didn’t need to be plied with sexual favors in order to stick around. It was surprising that something that felt so innate to Justin wasn’t more obvious to Brian after nearly twenty years together in one form or another, but when it came to Brian and understanding intimacy that involved the head _not_ attached to his dick, clearly the learning curve was steep. 

“You should get the hot water all to yourself. Just relax, soak for awhile, and I’ll make breakfast,” Justin proposed, keeping his tone light. He imagined Brian probably hadn’t had a decent meal since the last time he’d eaten with Michael in Pittsburgh, and he hoped the solitude would give Brian time to clear his head. Truthfully, he was surprised Brian had even mentioned taking a bath, as they were definitely more of Justin’s go-to, but he always found them to be cathartic when he was feeling stressed, and Brian never seemed to complain on the rare occasion that he joined Justin’s baths with strict instructions for no ‘funny business.’ Hopefully, at the very least, it meant that afterward, the day would move in a more positive direction. At any rate, it couldn’t be worse than the one before. 

Brian agreed easily, still clearly feeling exhausted, so Justin suggested he rest a bit longer while he prepared a bath. Again, Brian readily acquiesced, a clear testament to his ragged emotional state, and it made Justin feel all the more grateful that this was yet another small thing he could do to take care of his husband during his time of need. 

Justin gently released Brian and climbed out of bed, now on a mission. He filled the tub with water as hot as he felt Brian could stand and added some calming essential oils, knowing Brian wouldn’t likely want bubbles like he would, but at least the scent would help to soothe in both mind and body. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Brian dozing again, his face buried in Justin’s pillow. 

“The bath is ready,” Justin said gently, waiting as Brian got out of bed. They walked together to the bathroom, then Justin helped his husband ease into the oversized roman tub. Brian exhaled heavily as the steaming water enveloped him, just his head above water, leaning against a small pillow Justin had placed for him. “This feels fucking amazing,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

Justin leaned down to kiss him. “I love you. Take all the time you need,” he replied, then walked out of the room, sliding the door closed behind him for Brian’s privacy.

It was nearly an hour before Justin saw Brian again. In the meantime, he’d made coffee and prepared an egg white and veggie frittata that was staying warm in the oven. He was nearly finished with the sketch he’d been working on two days earlier when Brian walked into the kitchen, looking far more functional than Justin had left him. He had dressed in an old t-shirt and soft fleece sleep pants that he only wore when he was planning on spending the day lounging -- which rarely happened. Justin was glad to see that his intentions for the day seemed to be focused around taking it easy. 

“Can we eat before we talk?” Brian asked, massaging the back of his neck as he surveyed what Justin was working on. “That looks fucking amazing, by the way.”

Justin smiled. Though he knew he had earned his reputation in the art world by now, compliments from Brian -- given his impeccable and very particular tastes -- were still the ones that meant the most. 

“Thanks. I think I’m almost ready to start putting this one on canvas.” Justin said, then set his pencil down and stood up from the island, circling it so he could retrieve their breakfast from the oven. “We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to,” he continued, trying to sound conversational as he pulled out the eggs and a baking sheet containing perfectly-crisped turkey bacon. He knew that Brian probably _needed_ to talk more, but Justin certainly didn’t want him to feel obligated. 

To his credit, Brian shook his head, despite the slightly uneasy look that had returned to his eyes. “I… I think I want to. Later. Not yet.” 

Justin nodded amiably. “Okay. Later.” 

They ate breakfast at the dining table, Brian still quiet and contemplative as he ate his frittata, some bacon, and a small serving of fresh fruit. He offered to help with dishes, but Justin waved him away, suggesting he enjoy himself and do something relaxing for awhile.

“I know a conversation I’m going to hate is undesirably imminent,” Brian said, his tone suddenly sharp. “So if you’re not going to let me do something useful to distract myself, at least quit fucking coddling me like you don’t know it’s coming too.” 

Justin simply looked up at him from the other side of the sink, eyebrows raised, and Brian sighed. 

Realizing dishes could wait, Justin turned off the water and dried his hands before heading over to the couch. Brian followed and settled on the opposite end, retrieving the blanket he’d left from the night before and wrapping it around himself. 

_Like armor_ , Justin thought to himself, wishing Brian didn’t always feel like he had to protect himself against the world. 

They both sat quietly for a moment, each waiting for the other to begin. Finally, Brian sighed and said, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Justin shrugged. “I know you didn’t mean it.” 

“Quit cutting me so much slack,” Brian snapped, though it seemed like the harshness in his tone was intended more for himself than for Justin. He sighed again. “I know I say that ‘sorry’s bullshit,’ but for the sake of this conversation, can we agree that sometimes _I’m_ full of shit?” 

Justin smirked, but tried to hide it; there would be no arguing on his part. Brian noticed his attempted cover-up, but his lips just quirked up ruefully in acknowledgement. 

“I’m sorry,” Brian repeated, his tone serious and deliberate. “For a lot of things over the last two days. I… I didn’t know what to do with what happened before I left Pittsburgh, and I wasn’t ready to talk.” He paused, sighing. “And I don’t know how to lie to you. I haven’t for a long time, and you know that. So sometimes, it’s easier to piss you off, so you’ll leave me alone until I find enough of my remaining ball to face you -- as irrational as I know that sounds.” 

“Or,” Justin said, a small smile playing on his lips, “you could say, ‘Hey Justin, I’ve got something on my mind that I’m not ready to talk about, and I need a little space.’” He gave his husband a meaningful look before continuing. “Brian, I know what you’re doing when you do it now… But what I don’t understand is why, almost two decades into our relationship, you still think the solution to _anything_ is to push me away -- if for no reason other than it _won’t fucking work_.” 

Brian had been looking down at his lap, but he looked up at Justin and said, “I want to tell you what happened.”

Justin nodded encouragingly, and Brian launched into his account of what had transpired two days prior. He’d gone to his doctor in Pittsburgh for a routine check up, and when he’d returned to the waiting room following his exam, he’d found his mother sitting there. At first he hadn’t noticed her condition, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible -- thinking somehow she’d known he was there and had wanted to corner him for some asinine reason. But then she’d seen him, and the look on her face told him immediately that that hadn’t been her plan at all. “She looked like she’d seen a fucking ghost,” he said, his own voice sounding like the moment hadn’t been much different for him. 

When he’d paid more attention to her actual appearance, he’d realized something was very wrong. His hesitation had given her enough time to react, and she’d said, in her semi-cold Joan Kinney way, “You can pretend this never happened, Brian, or you can wait for me in the coffee shop downstairs and I’ll explain. I’ll leave it up to you.” 

Brian let out a shuddering breath. “I should have left. I _wanted_ to. I should have called a fucking car and hauled ass to Pittsburgh International.”

“Why didn’t you?” Justin asked, genuinely curious. It wasn’t like Brian hadn’t told his mother to go to hell before, and this time, she’d given him an easy out.

“I just… I couldn’t,” Brian said, shrugging helplessly. “Maybe it was just nosiness? Hoping for some kind of… schadenfreude? I don’t fucking know. I guess…” He sighed heavily, the sign of an impending confession. “I guess I didn’t think it would be that serious. And that maybe part of me hoped that she’d finally tell me she understood what I’d gone through all those years ago -- that she realized I hadn’t done anything to deserve it, because it had happened to her now too. I mean, sure, maybe Jack and I were sinful demons, but certainly pious, obedient Joanie couldn’t be subject to the same fate.” He let out a bitter laugh, wiping an angry tear from the corner of his eye. 

Justin snagged a box of tissues from the end table and placed it between them, just in case. 

“Instead,” Brian continued, “she showed up and fucking _calmly_ told me that she’s dying of the most deadly form of brain cancer there is, and no one else knows -- except, now, me. What _fucking_ luck.” 

“How long has she known?” Justin asked quietly. 

Joan had found out about her cancer fewer than two weeks before, Brian had explained. She’d been experiencing some cognitive difficulties that had initially been chalked up to early-stage dementia, but an MRI had spotted the cancer, dramatically changing her prognosis. Due to the location and advanced stage of the tumor, it had been declared inoperable, and Joan had been given treatment options, but due to their unlikely success rate, she’d chosen to decline. “If this is what the Lord wants for me, Brian, who am I to interfere with His plan?” she’d said, in the sage tone he’d come to despise over years of her proselytizing lectures. 

Brian had realized, though, that Joan had become highly educated about her condition and the anticipated course it would take in the coming weeks -- that within days, she would likely begin to experience severe life-altering side effects that would virtually incapacitate her, and ultimately require her placement in hospice care. Ever the pragmatist, she had made a number of appointments that week to get her affairs in order. After that was handled, she had intended to inform the family, not wanting Claire, specifically, to attempt to interfere with her decisions before the details had been finalized. 

“Would you have told me?” Brian had asked, not sure he wanted to know. 

Joan had given him a piercing look before responding, “I’m sure your sister would have informed you at some point.” Not wanting to pick a fight with a dying woman, Brian had let it go.

“Maybe she just meant that Claire would freak out and tell you before she had a chance to?” Justin suggested, not wanting Brian to assume the absolute worst about her intentions, if for no reason other than his own self-preservation. 

Brian shrugged. “Does it really even matter?” He pulled the blanket around him more tightly. “I asked if she was scared of dying. To cut the religion bullshit, because my question was based on the science of what was happening to her body. The seizures, the loss of control, the paralysis… because how could she believe that _her God_ would want that for her? Would want that for _anyone_?” His voice had become thick with emotion by the time he finished.

“What did she say?” Justin asked gently, his own emotions starting to get the better of him as he saw how deeply his husband was affected. 

The response came out so weakly that Justin practically had to lean in to hear it. “It was the first time I’ve seen my mother cry since I was a kid.” Brian cleared his throat, speaking a little more loudly. “I don’t mean like the tears she forced the times she told me I was shameful and going to hell for being gay. I mean…” He took a shuddering breath. “The crying she tried to hide from us when things got bad with Jack for one reason or another. The real emotion that reminded me that… that under it all, my mother was still a _person_.”

Justin frowned, wanting, for about the millionth time, to provide Brian with physical comfort, only able to guess at how painful this had to be for him. Brian’s body language still indicated his need for space, though, and Justin wanted to respect it. 

“She didn’t actually say much about her fears,” Brian admitted, sniffling. “She just said that the doctor assured her that most patients don’t feel pain at the end -- that very few even realize what’s going on beyond a certain point. And that that they just eventually… go to sleep and stay there until it’s over.” He huffed out another bitter laugh. “She was sure to add that she _does_ believe that it’s God’s way of showing her mercy. I’m sure some of it is just a crock of shit that doctors tell patients and their families because no one sticks around to contradict it.” 

Justin nodded, not entirely disagreeing with the sentiment, though he wanted to do some research on the condition himself. His limited knowledge on it had come from what he’d heard in the news, following the deaths of a few well-known individuals with the same form of aggressive brain cancer. He hoped what Joan’s doctor had told her was true, though. The thought of anyone dying a painful death as their body systematically shut down sounded unbearable. 

Brian didn’t have much more to share about his encounter with Joan, other than to add that it had ended shortly thereafter, and she’d insisted on buying his coffee, commenting that it wasn’t like she’d have much use for her money within a few weeks’ time. What had broken Brian the most, it seemed, was how they’d parted ways. Joan had given her son an awkward hug, and simply stated, “Well, Brian, I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Who the fuck says that to their _son_?” he demanded, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. He pulled a tissue from the box and swiped angrily at them. “I don’t know what I expected.” 

“How did you respond?” Justin asked, wiping his own eyes with the back of his hand. Somehow, he could envision Joan Kinney giving a completely emotionless sentiment then uncomfortably wrapping her bony arms around her youngest child, and Justin wondered if that was when the troubled look had first settled into Brian’s eyes, as he realized that it was likely the last time he’d see his mother alive.

Brian shrugged. “I was so caught off-guard, I think I said some meaningless stupid shit like, ‘Take care of yourself, Mom.’ I honestly don’t remember much that happened after that. I know I got to the airport and made it back here, but it’s all a fucking blur.” 

Justin hesitated before he asked his next question, but knew he had to put it out there. “Do you think you’d consider reaching out to her within the next couple days? While she’s still able to give you a response?” 

It appeared that Brian was genuinely considering his indirect suggestion, but eventually, he shook his head sadly. “I understand what you’re getting at, but the truth is--” a confessional sigh again bisected Brian’s statement, a pained expression settling back onto his face “--she’s never given me the response I wanted. I don’t expect she’d start now. And, quite frankly, I have no fucking clue what I’d do with it even if she suddenly did. It’s better this way.” 

“You deserved better from her,” Justin said.

At first, Brian nodded slowly, but then he looked up at Justin with brimming eyes and took in a shaky breath. “But then, why is it that I can’t stop asking myself… _did she deserve better from me_?” 

“Oh Brian,” Justin breathed, unable to help himself any longer as he moved across the couch, and, for the second time in the last twelve hours, took his husband into his arms and held him as he cried. “You gave her everything you could,” Justin whispered into Brian’s hair as he traced soothing circles on his back. “You gave her _more_ than she deserved based on how she treated you.”

Brian let Justin hold him until he got better control of his emotions, and then gently pulled himself away, cringing as he realized the amount of snot running from his nose. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he muttered, laughing brokenly. 

Justin just shrugged and handed him a tissue, snagging one for himself as well. “Trust me, you’ve gotten far worse on me.” 

Fortunately, Brian was able to muster a smirk, then blew his nose several times. “I hate that this has made me into such a fucking mess.” 

Justin pulled Brian back into a hug, a little surprised that he went so willingly. “You’ve been holding on to a lot,” he pointed out. “Have you ever really let yourself feel it?”

Brian twisted his neck to look up at Justin, giving him a skeptical look. “What do you think?”

Chuckling lightly, Justin just leaned down and pecked Brian on the lips, causing the other man to smile lightly, and then settle back onto Justin’s shoulder. 

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, Justin enjoying the warm weight and soft familiar scent of Brian against him. It was rare that Brian ever provided him with the opportunity to feel needed in that way -- usually Brian was the one offering the comfort, and Justin was the far more willing recipient. 

True to form, eventually, Brian started to get restless, but instead of moving back out of Justin’s arms, he started pressing kisses along the line of his shoulder, and then up his neck. By the time he reached the corner of Justin’s jaw, Justin turned his head enough so that their lips could meet instead. It wasn’t entirely clear if Brian was looking for a distraction or an alternate form of comfort, but Justin did his best to accommodate, trying to give Brian whatever he was seeking. 

Before things got too heated, Brian pushed himself away from Justin and stood up, holding out his hand for the other man to join him, and led him to their bedroom, pushing Justin on top of the unmade bed, and then quickly crawling on top of him and resuming his original mission. 

Brian’s true intent didn’t become completely clear until they were both naked, limbs tangled together, and shared state of arousal fully evident. Justin had been waiting for Brian to make some sort of decisive move, but he hadn’t. “What do you want?” Justin asked, his lips grazing the shell of Brian’s ear.

Brian pulled back enough to look at Justin, his expression open and earnest, complementing the desirous look already in his eyes. “Make me feel something else,” he whispered, and then kissed Justin deeply, as he rolled them so that he was on his back, legs spread around Justin’s hips, entrusting him with the task.

“Are you sure?” Justin asked quietly, partly to confirm that it was truly what Brian wanted, and partly from processing the slightly awestruck feeling that washed over him anytime Brian asked him to top. 

“I said I want to feel something else,” Brian said, his voice low. “And the only thing that has _ever_ made me feel whole is _you_. Let me feel you _this way. Please_.” 

If Brian’s words hadn’t spoken directly to Justin’s arousal, he probably would’ve found himself emotional by the gravity of the sentiment, but instead, it just reinforced his determination to give Brian the most pleasure he could muster; to take away his pain, for even just a little while. So he did just that.

***

“Do you think you want dinner soon?” Justin asked, stifling a yawn that followed shortly after. 

They’d spent the better part of the late morning and afternoon in bed, Justin first fulfilling Brian’s request, followed by watching a mindless movie together, and then making love again, this time with Brian taking control in what Justin imagined was more a necessary act of symbolism than desire -- but he certainly wasn’t about to complain. Afterward, both completely satiated, they’d fallen asleep, waking up as dusk settled over their room and the city lights started to come alive outside their windows. 

“I guess I should eat,” Brian admitted, his stomach growling to emphasize the accuracy of his statement. 

Justin smiled, patting the duvet where it covered Brian’s abdomen. “I could cook. I have the stuff I got for the other night. Or we could order takeout. Your choice.”

“As much as I’m going to regret this later, especially since whatever you were planning to make is undoubtedly a lot healthier… I could go for pizza.” 

“Done!” Justin said quickly, realizing a golden opportunity when he saw one. Brian almost never requested pizza, despite that he’d often end up eating some (and then complaining about weight gain) anytime Justin brought it home, so the fact that he was actually initiating was a Big Deal. Apparently even the likes of Brian Kinney were not entirely immune to comfort food. 

After Justin placed their order from his favorite nearby pizzeria, they got dressed and moved back to the living room, settling side-by-side on the couch. Brian turned on the television and flipped channels until they agreed on a repeat episode from the “Will & Grace” reboot. 

The episode where Beverly Leslie revealed to Karen that that he was gay (“No fucking shit,” Brian had remarked, snorting), was close to finishing when they got the call that their pizza had arrived, so Justin went downstairs to retrieve the food. He came back up to the penthouse, arms laden with pizza and a large salad (perhaps Brian was seeking a form of consolation, but he also hadn’t completely lost his mind) to find that his husband’s mood had sombered considerably from when he’d left. 

“What happened?” Justin asked, not beating around the bush as he set their dinner on the island and walked back over to the couch.

Brian shrugged and pointed at the TV, now onto the next episode of “Will & Grace” -- one that featured an unanticipated death of a much-loved character. They’d seen all the episodes in real-time, but the timing of that particular rerun was less than ideal, given the circumstances. 

“Change the channel,” Justin suggested, keeping his tone light. “Or turn it off. Come eat.” 

Fortunately, Brian nodded and flicked off the TV, joining Justin at the kitchen counter. They had their pizza and salad with beer, eating mostly in silence until Justin noticed that Brian was playing with more than consuming his food. When Brian realized that Justin was watching him, he sighed. 

“It’s all fucking weird,” he said, pushing his plate away.

“What is?” Justin asked, deciding he was done as well. He stood up, beginning to clear their plates as Brian contemplated his response. 

“Death. My mother. Being more open with you about it,” he smiled ruefully at the last admission, and then gratefully accepted the fresh beer Justin handed him, and they moved back over to the couch, Justin deciding their minimal dishes could wait. 

“I’m glad you’re being open,” Justin replied. “I know it sucks for you, but it’s so much easier than my having to guess what you’re thinking or feeling, or going to do next, at every turn. You always try to push me away, but it never works.”

“I always try to make it up to you though,” Brian reasoned. “You know this shit isn’t easy for me.” 

“Getting pushed off a proverbial cliff every time you need some space, rather than just saying, ‘Hey Justin, I need some space,’ isn’t _‘easy’_ for me,” Justin countered, raising an eyebrow challengingly, though there was no true malice in his voice. 

“Do I really do it that often?” Brian asked, though it was impossible for him to not know the answer, considering his well-known penchant for that very thing.

Justin smirked, nudging Brian with his knee. “Let’s see. I won’t even bother going all the way back to the beginning, so let’s start with my trying to move back to Pittsburgh, then the time you got freaked out about monogamy before our trip to Ibiza, or when you opened the New York branch of Kinnetik and were afraid to talk to me about relocating again, also when Michael had the health scare two years ago, then there was the whole thing with Gus not--”

“Okay, I get it,” Brian said, his tone dragged out for emphasis. “But you neglect to mention that each of those times, I more than substantially redeemed myself for any indiscretions.” 

“Brian,” Justin began, then quirked his mouth to the side in a contemplative expression, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. “It’s not about you always doing something to make it up to me _after_ the fact. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“I rearranged our entire trip to Ibiza so I could marry you on a private beach in Mallorca, at sunset,” Brian argued. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t something that _more_ than made up for my ‘freak out’ before we left.”

Justin shook his head, though he was unable to stop the reminiscent smile that entered his face as he remembered their wedding, the “side trip” to Mallorca a total surprise, followed by a _ridiculously romantic_ honeymoon spent eating and fucking their way through the Canary Islands. It turned out that Brian had done all of this with Jennifer’s blessing, once he’d come to his senses and realized that Justin truly _was_ the only one for him, once and for all. And he hadn’t changed his mind about it in the nearly fifteen years since. 

But still. 

“I’m just asking that we communicate better, that’s all,” Justin said, trying a different approach. “I don’t need you to tell me everything all the time. Or even _most_ of the time. I just need you to not shut me out completely. Especially in the times when you probably need me most.”

Brian was quiet for several seconds, digesting Justin’s words, before admitting, “I don’t know how to deal with feelings _I_ can’t shut out.” 

Justin nodded, having long-before identified it as one of Brian’s major challenges. “I know. But pushing me away isn’t going to make that easier. I made a vow to stand beside you through everything. So I’m not running. Because at the end of the day, everything we are is so much bigger than this. I just wish you could see it too. I mean, you don’t run from me when I’m going through something difficult. You’re always right there.”

“Always,” Brian echoed. “But you’re so much stronger--” he started to say, but Justin cut him off.

“I’m strong _because_ of you. Everything we get through _together_ is what makes us stronger. Every storm, no matter how big or small.” 

Brian bit his lip, appearing to need a moment to collect himself before speaking. “You’re so fucking sappy.” 

Justin smirked, recognizing the comment for what it was, then repeated, “I mean it. I’m not running, and I never have, so quit thinking I’m suddenly going to give in and start.”

He received a nod in response, followed by a soft, “Thank you.” They sat in silence for a few minutes before Brian spoke again, seeming to want to continue their conversation from earlier. “I did want to tell you more of what I was thinking… feeling… whatever.” 

“I kind of derailed that, sorry,” Justin admitted. “You said it’s weird thinking about death and everything with your mom.” 

Brian nodded. “It’s like any call could be _that_ call now. Though, knowing my lovely sister, she’ll probably just have the funeral director leave me a voicemail or something -- an address for where to send the check.” 

Justin rolled his eyes. He hoped not, but knowing Claire, it certainly didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility either. He looked back at Brian, growing serious again. “When you get the call, if we’re not physically together, will you let me know?”

Brian let out a long breath, but he nodded again. “I will as soon as I hear anything.”

“And,” Justin continued, “promise that you’ll try to let me be there for you through whatever comes after -- however you need me to be.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

They fell back into comfortable silence, opting for a drama-free movie to finish off their evening, eventually dozing off together on the couch before finally getting up and moving back to their bed.

As they settled down to sleep for the final time that day, Justin caught Brian looking at him in the darkness. 

“What?” he asked, laughing softly. 

“It might get worse,” Brian whispered. “ _I_ might get worse before this is over.”

“You might,” Justin agreed. Death was complicated, especially when it involved a relationship as complex as Brian’s with Joan. Despite the depth of Brian’s initial reaction, there were still many layers of grief to unpack.

“Are you _sure_?” Brian asked, his question seeming incomplete, but Justin heard what was left unsaid. _Are you sure you want to deal with me? Are you sure you want to handle this? Are you sure you don’t think you’d want someone better?_

“Of course I am.”

The next question came out even more hesitantly. “ _Why_?”

But Justin’s response came with no reservations whatsoever, to the tune of the mantra he had lived and breathed for the past nearly twenty years. 

“Because you’re worth _every_ second of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> All I want for Christmas is... feedback! Love to hear your thoughts. Happy New Year!!


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